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Jaymyria Etienne Poem
PRECIOUS DIALOGUE IN THE WOODS
I can hear you.
But are you listening?
I look in your eyes and they're no longer glistening.
I want you on my team.
But so does he.
Instead of you and I why can't this be we?
Do you hear me?;
Do you really concentrate on the things that I say and each breath that I take?
I'm reconsidering the hand I want to hold.
The heart that's in your head doesn't have to be so cold.
Don't play in the woods anymore.
I want to be precious to someone again.
But I can't be who I was before.
So can you love me the way I am?
Do you hear me?
Do you concentrate on the things that I fear and the people I hate?
I'm not believing the moments of projection.
Just tell me where to find myself; just show me the direction.
Do you hear me?
Do you pay attention?
This wall cannot cover your great apprehension.
I know you feel alone and unbelievably forsaken.
And though you are uncertain, I am a God who can't be shaken.
Don't play in the woods anymore.
I want to be precious to someone again.
But I can't be who I was before.
So can you love me the way I am...
...With my many faults and infinite breakdowns,
I know i'm unworthy but I need you now.
Redemption's bittersweet. And they will laugh at me,
I've learned in this life you must turn the other cheek.
I'm losing everything I've ever had...
But with me you're getting your life back.
It's time for you to trust and have that lust for life you need.
It's time for you to dance again and know you can be free.
There's nothing else to say.
Im only ready to be sure.
I found myself today ready to open the door...
Copyright © Jaymyria Etienne | Year Posted 2011
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Jaymyria Etienne Poem
I wanted some cookies and milk
So much.
I never crave this.
I never crave cookies.
I never crave milk and cookies and such.
It may not seem vital to people and persons who aren't in my head right now, right here.
But I wanted cookies and I couldn't have them.
It's not that I need or deserve them at all.
It's just that I saw it. The package of cookies.
I poured out the milk, a glass larger sized
Then opened the pack of cookies and lies.
One was remaining.
Just one.
Just one?...
I'm saddened the cookies are done.
They're done.
I wanted some cookies and milk so much.
So much. So much. So much
Copyright © Jaymyria Etienne | Year Posted 2015
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Jaymyria Etienne Poem
what happens to a broken heart?
does it melt like lipstick
trapped in a car on
the hottest day of the year?
or does it implode
like a star in great fear?
does it shatter like confused glass?
or bust and fall over--
like a runner ending last?
maybe it withers
like an old thread.
or maybe it's just dead.
~Ode to Mr. Langston~
Copyright © Jaymyria Etienne | Year Posted 2015
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Jaymyria Etienne Poem
THE LADY WITH THE CATS
think about the lady who we tease,
the one who often sneezes, often laughs, often dies of heart attacks.
think about how she was once a child,
a child who didn’t mind, didn’t care, and didn’t have to wash her hair.
Think about the lady some call crazy.
Think about the lady with the cats who often dies of heart attacks.
Maybe there’s a reason that she has them:
All the cats and all the scars, all the words and zero cars. Just maybe.
Maybe there’s a reason why she does it;
knits the sheets and all those mittens, pretends that she’s content with kittens. Maybe.
Maybe there’s a reason why she’s happy.
Maybe there’s a reason why she lives this way, every year, every day.
Think about the lady some call crazy.
Think about the lady with the cats who often dies of heart attacks.
Maybe, in her childhood, near her twenties…
Maybe she met a boy and fell in love and thought that would be plenty.
Maybe she was too scared to admit it.
Maybe she began to slowly let herself unravel; too scared to begin it.
Maybe she was taught that stories end.
Pages turn and people learn about the things they really want in life.
Maybe she’s too tired to continue.
Maybe every Friday at the venue playing bingo isn't right.
Instead of being old, she chose to grow up.
She chose to run a mile every morning all her life, and not to throw up.
Instead of being lonely, she was happy.
Happy with the cats, all the mittens, all the sheets, all faded khaki.
Instead of being bitter, she was sweet.
She’ll lay out all their bowls (all 9 of them) and get them food to eat.
She’ll never need a nanny or a sitter.
She’ll never reproduce or fall in love again. So she’ll never feel as bitter.
Think about your present and your future.
Think about the lady who is constantly reminded of her past.
Think about the lady some call crazy.
Think about the lady with the cats who often dies of heart attacks.
Copyright © Jaymyria Etienne | Year Posted 2011
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Jaymyria Etienne Poem
A BABY'S DIMPLE
Someone out there gets it.
Someone out there knows what it feels like writing every line; scraping skin till
insides show.
Someone out there understands sensations that aren't pain.
The stranger calls us desperate but we refuse to hold the name.
It's something so much deeper and it's something far too simple.
Press the cheeks of babies and voila, it's a dimple.
we're transparent in our ways.
We allow the lost to stay.
I don't know who all I'm speaking of.
Perhaps I'll learn another day.
We don't count on who we trust,
But we'll trust them if we must.
We mustn't open up our souls and live life just because.
Still we open up our spirits and let inspiration in.
We're amused by friends and lovers; day and night; fire and wind.
We're captured by specific phrases such as "sin is sin is sin."
And we are careful not to cross the curtain and let the prudent win.
We're so simple it's amusing.
Writing sonnets about the bruising.
our intentions are confusing.
We'll forever be refusing
To accept the facts of losing
To people generally accusing.
All these rhymes that I am using serve a purpose.
We'll keep trying to make a point always knowing that we'll never be perfect.
Copyright © Jaymyria Etienne | Year Posted 2011
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